"So you thought the pocket trick was a new one out here, did you?
Come, give the gun up! Oh! so there is some fight left in you?
Then let's settle it here." It was a struggle between two big, strong men--the one desperate, unscrupulous, brutal; the other angry enough, but retaining self-control.

They crashed onto the floor, Westcott still retaining the advantage of position, and twice he struck, driving his clenched fist home.

Suddenly he became aware that some one had jerked his revolver from its holster, and, almost at the same instant a hard hand gripped the neck-band of his shirt and tore him loose from Beaton.
"Here, now--enough of that, Jim," said a voice sternly, and his hands arose instinctively as he recognised the gleam of two drawn weapons fronting him.

"Help Beaton up, Joe.

Now, look yere, Mr.Bully Westcott," and the speaker shook his gun threateningly.